


Forever and a Year

by lazarus_girl



Series: Saudade Series [11]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Her world has turned on its head. The shift feels permanent.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever and a Year

**Author's Note:**

> Uses the alternate timeline/canon mentioned in Naomi’s ‘True Love’ speech, and follows Naomi and Emily between the ages of 12 and 24. Written for [15genres1prompt](http://15genres1prompt.livejournal.com). Genre: Time Travel. Prompt: Lost. Inspired by the Joan As Police Woman song [‘Forever and a Year’](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ozkD3raqh8). Thank you to [@cargoes](http://cargoes.tumblr.com/) for her beta skills and cheerleading.

***

 _“Colpo di fulmine. The thunderbolt, as Italians call it._  
 _When love strikes someone like lightning, so powerful and intense it can’t be denied._  
 _It’s beautiful and messy, cracking a chest open and spilling their soul out for the world to see._  
 _It turns a person inside out, and there’s no going back from it._  
 _Once the thunderbolt hits, your life is irrevocably changed."  
_ ― J.M. Darhower, _Sempre_.

***

**Twelve**

It’s a Tuesday. The sky’s grey and overcast; rain battering against the windows. Unremarkable in every respect. She watches the clock more than the blackboard, just like every other lesson. Maths isn’t her thing. She’s never been one for logic, for black and white, for right or wrong. She believes too much in the things that exist in between those places; that strange grey, where absolutes disappear and anything is possible. She’s pushing it, she knows. Soon, Mr McAllister will be striding up the aisle and coming to check on her work and she hasn’t even finished a single question.

Still, being that she’s Mr McAllister’s favourite – a well-known fact – she has some leeway compared to everyone else in the class. Her sister Katie’s already been sent out for talking back to him, and she’s lost count of the amount of times her chair’s been kicked by Sam Harris in the last half hour. School is a lonely place, because she’s not as loud or opinionated as her sister and their friends. Home is a lonely place because she’s not as loud or opinionated as the rest of her family. It doesn’t really feel like she fits anywhere.

It’s days like this where she’s convinced there was a mix-up at the hospital, and she actually belongs to another family, who live far away from here. A faint hope, a silly thing, but it sometimes lessens the ache she feels. It’s a strange, foggy feeling that rests always, right in the pit of her stomach like when you’ve lost something, and can’t remember where you put it. She’s always felt as if part of her is missing, that there’s more out there for her, if only she knew where to find it. As if, she’s waiting for something to happen, but isn’t sure what. It means she’s constantly on edge, tightly coiled as a spring, but that ‘something’ never ever comes.

Until …

The door rattles suddenly, and she looks up, gaze falling upon the girl who just stepped inside. She’s clearly flustered, and heads straight for Mr McAllister’s desk, thrusting the note she’s carrying into his hand.

The whispering and the giggling has started already – weirdo, freak, nerd – she’s heard it all before. Barbed snap judgements that are rarely right but always stick. It’s never easy being the new girl. They’ve condemned her already, and she hasn’t even spoken. Emily suddenly feels desperately sad for her. She looks so painfully shy.

“Ah, you’re with us at last then,” he says, smiling reassuringly as he steps out from behind the desk, looking down at the note once more.

The girl just nods, tucking a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear, never looking up.

“Alright you lot,” Mr McAllister claps his hands, in the hope of refocusing their attention. “This is Naomi, Naomi Campbell, and she’ll be joining this class. I hope that you’ll all give her a warm welcome,” he continues, and coaxes the girl forward.

There’s another muted ripple of laughter at her name, some "nah sir's” and “don’t think so’s” from the boys on the back row. Usually, she’d turn round and glare at them to show her disapproval, even if she got some twattish comment or the middle finger in return, but she can’t tear herself away from the girl.

Naomi. She forms the name on her lips and smiles to herself. It’s beautiful, just like she is.

“Shut it, the lot of you!” he admonishes loudly, “Emily, there’s a seat free next to you, isn’t there?”

At the mention of her name, the girl lifts her head and looks right at her. There’s a feeling, an energy that passes through her the second it happens. Something she’s never felt and doesn’t have enough words to describe. Suddenly she can’t breathe, and it feels like the world has begun to turn a little slower. Naomi has the clearest, bluest eyes she’s ever seen. Suddenly, her heart is up in her throat, speeding and unsteady. She blinks, once, twice, but they’re still looking at each other, and everything feels incredibly still, like they’re breathing different air to everyone else. Then, it clicks. The ‘something’ she’s been waiting for all this time isn’t a something, it’s a _someone_. It’s her.

In an instant, everything she’s dreamt of, longed for in the darkest hours of the night, has a face and a body and it’s perfect. It all flashes by in a moment or two, vivid in her mind’s eye. Hope. Promise. Love. She can see it all so clearly, as clearly as the girl that’s slowly moving toward her, wearing the same curious, awed expression.

She feels altogether too light, like she’s not really inside her body or rooted to the ground anymore.

The room, no, the world should look different somehow; brighter, crisper, and less mundane, because she feels utterly changed. Five minutes have ticked by on the clock, but it seems as if a lifetime has passed.

Naomi feels it too.

***

**Fifteen**

Naomi doesn’t know why she’s at the party, not really. It just sort of happened. Thankfully, it’s last one of the term before the break for the summer holidays and they go into Year 11. She’s sure it’s supposed to mean something, given how much people have been going on about it, but all she can muster in the way of feelings is relief that after next week, she doesn’t have to see them for six more, and she’s not remotely upset.

The second she arrived at Zoe Blake’s house, she thought it was a mistake. An hour and a half later, and significantly less sober, it’s definitely is one. She doesn’t know anyone that she even _wants_ to talk to, the music’s deafening – crappy mainstream pop that she can’t stand – and she’s been forced into drinking several cans of lukewarm, cheap beer, just so she doesn’t look out of place. It’s a charade she’s used to. She’s too outspoken to be in Katie Fitch’s mob of preened, popular, airheads; but she’s too well-known to befriend shy, bookish girls like Lucy Stephenson, who actually care about school, even if she does have more in common with them. In fact, she’s never really fitted in anywhere.

It’s been that way for as long as she can remember.

Just when she gives serious thought to ending the torture and going home, someone throws a spanner in the works and attempts to rescue her.

“Naomi!”

She doesn’t turn immediately, but she doesn’t need to either. She’d know that voice anywhere. It’s Emily Fitch. Emily is a puzzle that she can never seem to figure out. Somehow, she spends most of the school day watching her, transfixed, perplexed, because she can’t fathom how twins – two people who share the same DNA – can be so vastly different. The teachers get them mixed up all the time, but she can tell them apart. They’re not even identical.

“Hi,” she says at last, as Emily draws level, slightly unsteady in heels. She’s carrying a bottle of something, presumably alcoholic, that’s three-quarters full.

There’s a moment of hesitation before Emily speaks again. It’s something Naomi associates with her. She’s always so considered, careful, thoughtful. Everything her sister isn’t. The way Emily looks at her unsettles her, but she never shows it. Never lets herself attach any meaning to it.

“Can I sit here?”

“It’s a free country,” she shrugs, sipping on her drink to distract herself, looking around the immaculate garden surrounding them. “Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” she adds, with a smirk.

“I’ll risk it,” Emily replies, the hint of a smile on her lips. “She’s busy snogging Adam fucking Taylor anyway, she won’t care.”

Naomi shudders and makes a face. The _she_ Emily’s referring to doesn’t need any clarification.

“I know. Ugh.” Emily comments, as she smoothes her dress with her free hand and sits down.

Naomi’s appalled but then not, because Adam goes after anything with a pulse, and Katie’s been obsessed with him for ages. Everyone is, well, except for her. He’s tried to chat her up a few times, and failed miserably. She feels like she’s missing something sometimes, because she doesn’t immediately fawn over him like the other girls. When you take away the perfect hair and the perfect teeth, he’s just ordinary, brainless and arrogant. She wants more, so much more than that, but on nights like this, she thinks she’s probably asking too much.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Emily continues, twisting the cap off the bottle she’s holding. Naomi glances down and sees there’s just a few inches of space between them. It feels just a little too close. “I mean, I didn’t expect it, but –” Emily stops short, shaking her head and putting the bottle to her lips.

Naomi always wants to press her then, to make Emily say all the words she stops herself from saying. Not just because she knows they’re important, but because they’re important to Emily, but she can’t quite do it.

Instead, she gives the reply that’s expected, “I nearly didn’t.”

Emily turns to her, flinching as she swallows. “What changed your mind?”

“Gravitational pull? Peer pressure? Boredom? I don’t know,” she laughs a little, catching herself, suddenly embarrassed for no real reason.

She goes to take another sip from her can and finds it empty, setting it down in the grass, as guilty as everyone else.

“Well,” Emily begins, “I’m glad. At least now I have someone to talk to.”

“Does that talking also include drinking?” Naomi gestures towards the bottle.

“Absolutely!” Emily grins, passing it to her.

Naomi’s confused again. She’s never seen her like this before. Even her voice sounds different. It’s lighter and higher than normal. The sound seems more open. It occurs to her that Emily’s drunk, and maybe she is too.

She takes a long swig without thinking. The burn hits immediately, and her breath goes with it.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” she sputters, “What the fuck is this, lighter fluid?” she turns away from Emily, coughing.

“No, cider,” Emily laughs, patting Naomi on the back. “Are you alright?” she asks, in an altogether softer voice. Her concern trips off something somewhere in Naomi’s stomach, or maybe her chest. She can’t pin it down. She’s never been able to, but she does know she wants to feel it again.

Recovering, Naomi nods, unable to do anything else, and holds the bottle toward the light coming from the house, squinting to read the label. “White Lightning. Classy.”

“I try.” Emily half-smiles, watching her closely. That strange feeling is back. Warm and intangible. Maybe Naomi feels it too? She pretends it’s just the drink, knowing it’s not because she feels it whenever they’re together. “Everything else was gone.”

“Fuck it. Let’s drink it anyway!”

Emily grins like they’re both sharing a secret of some kind. “We’re here to get drunk aren’t we?”

“That was my general plan,” Naomi says, taking another swig before passing it back to Emily. “I don’t know how much of this shit I can stand though,” she gestures vaguely to the people around them, doing half-hearted dancing, and significantly more enthusiastic kissing, capturing their every move with their camera phones.

“The less I can remember, the better.”

“Exactly!” Naomi nods enthusiastically. Behind them, the patio doors open, and for a few torturous moments, the music booming out from the living room gets louder. “Who listens to this?” she exclaims, disgusted, seconds from putting hands over her ears.

“What, you don’t like,” Emily pauses to identify the music, “Rihanna?”

“No, I _fucking_ don’t!” Naomi spits out, horrified.

Emily laughs. It’s the real, deep, rumbling kind of laughter. Naomi’s never seen her do it before, or, she’s never been the cause of it.

This is the longest they’ve been around each other for, well, _years_ without Katie butting in.

Emily’s brows furrow and she tilts her head, “What _do_ you listen to then?”

“Different things,” Naomi replies, non-committal. “Nothing they’ve ever heard of, anyway,” she adds, and takes the bottle back from Emily once more. It’s lighter now, crackling under the pressure of her grip.

She knows better than to reveal things, even mundane things like music taste, but for some reason, Emily makes her _want_ to talk, despite every bone in her body telling her to clam up.

“Like?” Emily prods, just a little, leaning forward to hear better when the music gets turned up even higher.

Naomi answers without thinking, “Le Tigre, stuff like that.”

Emily repeats the words in her head, ignoring the thrill that surges through her at the way Naomi pronounces it. She drinks to distract herself, hoping Naomi can’t see that she’s blushing. “Well, you’re not alone,” she comments, covering well.

The word ‘adorable’ crosses Naomi’s mind, feeling immediately foreign.

“There’s only so much of _them_ I can take without drink being involved,” Emily gestures toward the house, and Naomi glances around to see Katie’s mates dancing together in practically identical outfits.

Naomi snorts, shaking her head at their ridiculousness. Since she started drinking the cider – but if she’s honest, since Emily appeared – the party’s become a lot less terrible.

“Why do you put up with it? Just tell them to fuck off,” she shrugs. “I do.”

“I wish,” Emily replies, quietly. She turns back to Naomi, their knees brushing together as she does so. “I try to get them to stop, you know. To leave you alone.”

“I know,” she says, softly, when really she wants to say ‘thank you.’

Emily glances away, sadly. “They’re afraid of Katie. It doesn’t seem to matter what I say. They’re not interested.”

She studies Emily, struck by the weight of her words and an almost overwhelming sense of sadness. She hates that Katie and the rest of them make Emily feel so small. She can take it, she’s used to it now, but to always feel as if you don’t matter, as if you’re invisible, that’s worse than being the girl who stands out from the crowd.

“It matters to me,” she blurts out, suddenly, placing her hand over Emily’s. “I’m interested,” she smiles, tilting her head in the hope of catching Emily’s eye.

Emily turns, surprised. “You are?”

Suddenly, they’re much closer together than either of them thought. Everything feels slower, heavier, somehow. Foggy, and yet, startlingly clear. Emily looks right into her eyes, and she into Emily’s, but it’s like they’re looking at each other for the first time ever. Emily’s eyes dart down to Naomi’s lips, and then back up again, uncertain, nervous. Her heart pounds in her ears, louder than she’s ever heard and quicker than she’s ever felt before, like she’s on the very edge of something, peering down from a great height, soon to fall. She wants to kiss Naomi, desperately, it’s all she’s ever wanted, but she’s afraid. It feels like seconds and an eternity unfold as she watches Naomi move toward her, tilting her head at the last second. Then, Naomi’s lips are on hers, pressing gently – so gently – and she can’t quite believe it’s actually happening.

Naomi realises, lost in the softness of Emily’s lips as she kisses her back, that everything has been leading this very moment. It’s what she’s wanted all along. This is what she’s been searching for or rather _who_. She knows, when they pull apart, seconds later, eyes wide and breath ragged, neither able to form real words, that Emily feels it too.

***

**Eighteen**

Even in the crowded canteen, Emily can pick Naomi out. Breathless from running nearly the entire length of the college, _and_ down a flight of stairs, picking out that familiar shock of peroxide blonde is her reward. Naomi’s sitting alone in the corner by the window, near the fire exit that’s propped open for the smokers. She’s in a world of her own. Book in her hand, earphones in, and a tray half eaten tray of food next to her. It’s Naomi’s trick, so they can still eat together when Emily’s history lesson finishes.

They’re only a few weeks in to the term, but it’s fast becoming a tradition.

Emily stands with her tray, just watching Naomi for a moment, because she can. It’s a habit that she can’t _quite_ seem to break, formed during the days she spent watching her at school. They were stolen glances then, quick and curious – at the bus stop on the corner; in Maths when she sat a few rows in front of her; or English, when all she’d get is one look at the start and end of the lesson, listening to her talk or read aloud. She was drawn to her, inexplicably, even when the threat of Katie noticing was all too apparent. These days though, there’s no limit on how long or how often she can look, because Naomi isn’t out of reach anymore. In fact, she’s very much _within_ her reach.

It’s still exciting, still a novelty to say the word ‘girlfriend’ when talking about Naomi to someone else. She’d thought about saying it sometimes, when her imagination took little flights of fancy, but it didn’t quite match up to the feeling she got when she first said it out loud. She still has to remind herself that what’s happened between them has actually happened, and there won’t be a repeat of the drama that happened with Katie and everyone else when they were at school. Her sister, has, albeit reluctantly, accepted that Naomi’s now a part of her life. A permanent part.

She weaves through the tables, ignoring her phone when it vibrates in her pocket, demanding attention. Balancing her tray, she leans down, brushing the hair behind Naomi’s ear and easing the earphone from it.

“Hello my little bookworm.”

It’s cheesy, she knows, and she hates it a little bit, because it means they’re at that disgusting pet name stage she swore she’d never reach with _anyone_ , let alone Naomi. Even so, it’s stuck ever since she found her waiting at the bus stop, well out of sight of Emily’s mum, engrossed in a battered copy of The Great Gatsby, cigarette dangling from her lips at an angle.

“Jesus Emily! Don’t _do_ that!” Naomi gasps, jumping out of her skin as her head whips round. The shock on her face disappears immediately, and her features soften along with her voice when she looks into Emily’s eyes. “Hi.”

Emily smiles and replies with a quiet, “Hello.”

She won’t say so out loud, but when Naomi gets flustered like that, she can’t help but find it adorable, because she’s usually so steely and prickly toward other people. The fact Naomi lets herself be vulnerable, even for a moment, means something. It’s silly, this coy little dance they do, every time they meet. It’s even sillier that she still feels a little bit shy around Naomi, because of everything they’ve shared, that they _are_ sharing day after day, but she can’t help it. She can’t help the way her heart races every time she looks at her. She can’t help the way she’s blushing either, even though all they’ve done is say hello to each other, and they’ve only been apart for two hours. Katie tells her that they’re nauseating – well, _actually_ Katie says they make her want to vomit, but she’s sure that she’s caught her sister smiling at them once or twice when they’ve all been together over the summer.

The moment stretches out between them, and Emily’s not sure if she should kiss Naomi now or wait until later. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, because she _always_ wants to, and Naomi’s past caring about what people will think, having quite embraced the idea of public displays of affection, but she still wants to keep things just for them. Sometimes, she misses that little thrill that comes with what they have being special and secret. It’s the good kind of secret she’s after. The kind when you want to keep things close, private and intimate, rather than the bad kind, when your every thought and action is driven by shame and fear. That’s not who they are anymore.

She settles for a peck on the cheek instead. “Sorry about the unnecessary heart attack.”

“I dunno,” Naomi shrugs, pulling her other earphone out and bunching the chord into her jacket pocket, “I think it was worth it, all things considered,” she smiles, casting her book aside.

It’s her cocksure, knowing little smile that she pulls out whenever she’s playing for witty and self-deprecating. Emily’s sure it’s not supposed to make her forget to breathe, but it does.

“I think so too,” Emily replies sweetly, quite forgetting she’s standing there with her tray in her hands, not having moved an inch.

“I was debating sending out a search party for you,” Naomi comments, with a smirk, draining the last of a too-milky coffee. “Sit. I saved it for you,” she continues, picking up her bag and patting the seat like it’s a big, grand gesture. It is. In its own way.

The chairs are bolted to each other, and given the strength of Naomi’s death glare, it’s doubtful that anyone would’ve dared to try and sit there anyway, but Emily’s still touched by it.

“Sorry I took so long,” Emily begins, sliding into the seat, sitting as close to Naomi as she physically can. “We were supposed to have lunch together,” she continues, sadly, as she begins to pick through the salad in front of her, stabbing at random leaves. Her heart isn’t really in it, and she pushes the tray away again.

Something in Naomi’s chest shifts. She hates seeing Emily like this.

She struggles still, with negotiating love; with loving Emily sometimes. Everyone’s so obsessed with falling in love, that no one ever really gives much thought to being in love. She never did. She never bargained for how _much_ she’d feel. Sometimes, it feels like her heart might just implode from the sheer weight of it all.

“It’s alright,” Naomi replies, softly, taking Emily’s hand in hers and squeezing reassuringly. “You’re worth the wait.” There’s a faint blush on Naomi’s cheeks this time, and she glances away shyly, looking at their joined hands, caressing the back of Emily’s with her thumb.

“It’s just that with college, and everything at home, I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”

It all comes out in one breath, and Emily feels like it makes no sense and perfect sense at once.

“I know,” Naomi says, sadly. “It’s shit,” she adds, with a sigh, before pressing a quick kiss to Emily’s cheek to comfort her.

It’s grinding Emily down, the constant fighting and arguments, she can see it. Truth be told, it’s starting to get to her too, not that she’d ever say so, because it would just add to Emily’s worries, and that’s the last thing she wants. They’re in too deep now, she wouldn’t dare break things off just because certain people want them to. They don’t get to see each other as much as they’d like. For the most part, it’s been snatched moments here and there. The summer spoiled them. They could do anything, and go anywhere any time they wanted, but once college kicked back in with deadlines, coursework, and the sudden onset of house rules – talk of Emily needing ‘family time’ and the fact they’re together all the time is ‘unhealthy.’ She’s lost count of the phone calls with Emily that have ended with either one or both of them in tears.

Though there are still some things about being Emily’s girlfriend that want to send her barrelling in the opposite direction – Jenna being one – there are many more things that make her question sanity for not letting her guard drop and telling Emily the truth earlier. She pulls back from Emily, just a little, so she could kiss her again if she felt like it. Naomi’s missed this. The calm. The softness. The stillness. The way that Emily makes her feel like the world turns a little slower and anything is possible.

“I got you a little present,” Naomi continues, holding Emily’s gaze.

At this, Emily melts, and her heart leaps up somewhere near her throat. It’s a surprise, but the nicest kind. They’ve never really _done_ anything official like giving presents or gone on a proper date.

“You did?” Just from the way Emily says it, Naomi feels like kissing her again. “What for?”

“Just because,” Naomi shrugs, reaching for her bag. “Close your eyes,” she instructs, semi forceful, because Emily always cheats and looks before she’s ready.

Emily does as she’s told, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, mouth suddenly dry with anticipation. She can hear rustling, knowing Naomi’s rooting through that massive bag of hers, and then there’s muttering and the odd swear word. Emily smiles, because it’s so very _Naomi_.

This isn’t what Naomi imagined in her head. In her head, it was a lot smoother, and she’d present the gift with a flourish, and it’d be lovely and Emily would swoon, and she’d bank serious girlfriend points, if this were about point scoring, which it isn’t. Still, Emily knows what she’s in for by now, she’s still learning, they’re both still learning, and Naomi can’t imagine a time where she won’t make a twat of herself and complicate seemingly simple things like this. OK, so they’re not exactly the greeting card definition of romance, but she likes that.

Emily listens harder, growing ever so slightly tense as the seconds tick towards minutes. There’s more rustling, and then she hears a triumphant little ‘yes’ from Naomi.

“You can open them now.”

There, on Naomi’s open palm, is a chocolate muffin, wrapper peeled down, ready to eat. It’s not just any run-of-the-mill muffin, it’s Emily’s favourite, triple chocolate, with extra chips and a cream centre. They always sell out first, and she’s rarely in time to get one.

Emily lights up, smiling at her like she’s just given her the greatest thing in the universe. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem so stupid that she stood in the canteen queue glaring at every person in front of her who added one to their trays.

“Aww babe,” Emily swallows hard, feeling her voice give out and she takes it from her.

It’s ridiculous, but as soon as she registers that Naomi’s purposefully gone out of her way to buy one, she feels like crying and has to catch herself to stop it.

“I had to fight some snotty first year for it. Don’t worry, I stuck to verbal threats.”

“I should hope so,” Emily giggles. “How chivalrous,” she continues, tilting her head, still looking at her wondrously. No one looks at her like Emily does. “Thank you,” she continues, and pecks her on the cheek again.

Naomi laughs nervously, watching as Emily pops the first piece of cake in her mouth. “You’re welcome.”

Emily’s ecstatic little groan as she eats, turning the muffin methodically and breaking off pieces, is practically obscene. Had she not known she can illicit similar but louder noises from her when they’re in bed, she’d be offended. Thankfully, she can just appreciate the fact that Emily’s dramatics are rather adorable instead.

“Naomi,” Emily sighs, drawing out her name with the breath, “I can honestly tell you, I’ve never loved you more than in this moment!”

Naomi shakes her head, pretending to look offended, but she couldn’t mind in the least. “If I only I’d known all I needed to do to get your eternal love was buy you a muffin, we could’ve saved a lot of time!” she laughs. “Here’s me thinking you loved me for my wit and intellect!” she continues, leaning back so she’s out of Emily’s reach.

“Fuck off!” Emily exclaims, and shoves at Naomi with her free hand, holding the last remnants of the muffin out of harms way with the other. “Lucky I love you,” she pouts.

“It is,” Naomi grins.

She never tires of hearing Emily say that; it still makes her heart stall in the best way. Emily never tires of seeing the expression on Naomi’s face: half embarrassment, half disbelief, all adoration. Sometimes, having this with Naomi, being with her, truly and properly together in a way that’s anything but temporary and teenage feels like a dream she’s still trying to wake up from. She sees that same feeling reflected in Naomi, doubling back at her. They’re one and the same. Naomi completes her.

“Did anyone tell you you’re the best girlfriend ever?” Emily comments, before taking another bite.

“I try,” Naomi smiles shyly, knowing that she’s blushing.

She looks round, torn between pride and embarrassment, wishing perhaps that this had been a private moment between them, instead of a very public one. Her smile widens when Emily turns back to her, licking her fingers clean, the muffin only just gone. The telltale chocolate remnants on the corner of her mouth are left behind.

“What?” Emily asks, mouth a little full.

“Honestly,” Naomi says, leaning over and tracing her thumb over the corner of Emily’s mouth, before kissing her in the same spot.

“Oh,” Emily says wiping at the same spot as she swallows.

Naomi laughs. “Can’t take you anywhere!”

“You could, if you asked nicely,” Emily winks.

“I did once, remember?” Naomi holds Emily’s gaze, full of knowing, when she adds, “Look what happened there.”

They fall silent, Emily resting her head on Naomi’s shoulder as memories of their lake – kisses, nervous touches, cheap vodka, the dying embers of a fire, and the warmth of a tartan blanket – come back, drowning out the world around them. Naomi sighs contentedly, sliding her open palm into the small of Emily’s back, pulling her closer; fingertips brushing her skin through the material of her jacket. It’s moments like this that make all the struggle, the wishing, and the waiting, worth it.

***

**Twenty-One**

Emily turns, reaching out blindly in the darkness, expecting to make contact with a body – a warm Naomi-shaped body – but she’s left flailing at air and running her hand across a cold sheet. She’s alone. She’s not worried though. This isn’t the first time she’s woken up without Naomi curled into her side, but she misses her all the same. She misses Naomi’s protection, her warmth, and the unexpected bliss of being kissed awake – the only alarm clock she’s needed for years.

It takes a moment for the fog of sleep to lift enough for her to make out the numbers on the bedside clock: 3:04 AM. Forcing herself to focus, she rubs her eyes, telling herself to wake up. The flat is quiet, and she strains to listen for any sign of Naomi – the clink of cup and spoon as she potters around making coffee to keep herself awake; the telltale click of the door as she comes back in off the balcony after a smoke; the lulling sound of her typing away on her laptop that Emily’s found herself drifting off to so many times. There’s nothing like that at all. There’s nothing but the distant sound of wailing police sirens and the vague echo of music from downstairs, bass heavy and annoyingly familiar.

Grudgingly, she pulls back the bedclothes, running a hand through her hair as she sits on the edge of the bed, flexing her toes against the wooden floor. Shuddering against the cold, in nothing but a vest and pyjama shorts, she picks up Naomi’s cardigan off the back of the chair near their dressing table and puts it on. She stands a moment, the cardigan pressed to her nose, inhaling the lingering scent of Naomi – her perfume, her everything – before wrapping herself up in it and rolling back the too long sleeves as she pads across the room. She misses the door handle twice before she grabs it firmly enough.

She’s too tired for this really, worn out by the neverending cycle of reading, seminar prep, essays, and now, exam revision, but she can’t bear to sleep alone. It was a lot to juggle when they were just freshers – the year gone in a haze of new friends, parties, pub crawls, culinary disasters, all-nighters working until the sun came up, and the unexpected bliss that comes along with living with the girl she adores – getting used to living in Sheffield. Now, in the last few months of their final year, it’s even worse. Everything’s shifted gear, heavy with import. The marks they’re working so hard towards achieving aren’t just numbers anymore, they’re depending on them for internships, entrance into masters degree courses, job offers. Everything.

The dim yellow light from the living room leaks in, and everything’s exactly as it was before she went to sleep a few hours ago; happy and just a little drunk, after their attempt at a civilised, ‘grown-up’ birthday dinner for their closest friend Tom descended into utter chaos. Their friends are long gone, dispatched home in various stages of drunkenness. Dishes from earlier in the day are still in the sink, yet to be washed up; beer and wine bottles dotted around on the counter; the balloons, streamers and party poppers are scattered all around; and the faint lingering smell of smoke, candle wax, and birthday cake icing mix together.

A few feet away from her at the kitchen table, surrounded by books, papers, and her laptop long since shut off to save the battery – is Naomi, in her favourite Roxy Music t-shirt and jogging bottoms. She’s fast asleep with head resting on the table, and her face obscured by a curtain of dark blonde hair – it’s golden almost, instead of the bright Monroe-esque peroxide it once was; longer too. Clutched tight in her right hand, is a lime green highlighter, still uncapped. Emily’s never seen her look more beautiful. For all her efforts to be seen as someone who’s cool and glides effortlessly through academic work, Naomi – her beautiful, fiercely intelligent Naomi – works hard, and underneath it all, is actually a bit of a nerd. She adores her for it.

Just an hour or so, and Naomi promised she’d come to bed, reassuring her that she only had one chapter left to read, and she should keep the bed warm. Foolishly, Emily believed her – it was the wink, the husk of Naomi’s voice, heavy with desire and promise – even though she’s found her curled up like this countless times. Emily had been reluctant to go, happy to clean up everything on her own while Naomi worked, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted it was fine, because of her early morning lecture, and mounting final essay deadlines. She wouldn’t even let her feel guilty about not cleaning up when she had so much work to do herself, and chose to patently ignore that she had to be talked into holding the party at their flat instead of at Nikki’s or Lucy’s in the first place. All that mattered to Naomi was that she enough got sleep, ignoring her every attempt to argue, taking away the black bin bag barely full with bottles, and finally silencing Emily with a kiss.

“Oh Naoms,” she says softly, as she leans against the doorframe, partly to herself, partly to Naomi’s sleeping form.

She pads carefully across the room, hugging herself for warmth and avoiding all the rubbish that’s yet to be picked up, trying not to startle Naomi, and save herself from injury as she goes. Just as she suspected, the mug of coffee she made, hot and sweet just how Naomi likes it – her ritual, the one thing Naomi actually _let_ her do before sending her away tonight – is untouched; long since gone cold. Kneeling down beside her, Emily tentatively reaches out and gently pushes back Naomi’s hair. She looks so calm, completely at peace, so different from the girl pacing round the flat, cigarette in one hand and textbook in the other, talking away to herself in riddles.

“Look at you,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Naomi’s forehead.

She’s still wearing her glasses, and Emily carefully lifts them off, before folding them up and putting them on the table so they don’t get broken. They’re a new acquisition, and Naomi’s still self-conscious about having to wear them whenever she reads. Emily’s always the one to remind her to put them on whenever she sees the telltale sign of Naomi rubbing her temples. She’s got no idea why Naomi hates them so much, she keeps telling her that they make her look even more beautiful – they do – sort of like a really sexy librarian and someone out of a French New Wave film crossed together, but better. The black frames are sleek and simple, but they make her eyes look even bluer. The first time Naomi put them on, Emily thinks her heart stopped because of seeing that deeper blue. Naomi, of course, thinks she’s just placating her, even now, but she’s never been good with compliments.

“Naomi,” she says, keeping her voice low. “Naomi,” she repeats, slightly louder.

Naomi jolts awake, inhaling sharply. “Fuck, I fell asleep!” she exclaims, bleary-eyed, disorientated, looking around the room before finally settling on Emily again. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Emily replies, “or, early, depending on how you look at it,” she amends with a smile, rising slowly to kiss Naomi’s cheek. “After three.”

“Shit,” Naomi shakes her head, swinging her legs out from under the table and stretching, back arched. Rubbing her eyes, she pushes back her hair roughly, surveying the room again. “Oh, I was supposed to clean up!”

“It doesn’t matter, leave it,” Emily says, reaching for the highlighter still in Naomi’s hand and capping it, twining her fingers with Naomi’s after she sets it down again. “Come to bed. Get some sleep.”

“I’ve got too much to do,” Naomi whines, leaning back in her chair, pulling away from Emily and flipping the pages of the thick textbook near her. “I need to finish this.”

Emily tilts her head, gazing at her sweetly. It makes Naomi’s heart beat a little faster, just like every other time she’s done it. “You can barely keep your eyes open, babe.”

“But,” Naomi protests.

Reaching forward, she attempts to pick up the bin bag she left resting against their aged blue sofa. The bottles inside clink tellingly, but beyond that, it barely moves.

“But nothing,” Emily overlaps her, stern now, blocking her path and pressing a finger to Naomi’s lips when she opens her mouth to speak again. “Put the bag down, come with me. You _need_ to sleep.” Then, Emily takes Naomi’s hands in her own, lacing their fingers together. “You won’t learn anything else. You can’t possibly in this state, babe,” she implores, tightening her grip just enough to reinforce her point.

“Fine,” Naomi sighs, knowing she’s beaten, dropping the bag without another word.

If there’s anything that Emily won’t be moved on, it’s looking after her. She gives in entirely, letting Emily take her hands and pull her up. It takes her a moment to adjust, because now she’s standing, her body feels twice as heavy, weighed down by weariness. Anything like drunkenness has long since left her.

“That’s my girl,” Emily replies, singsong, pushing against their joined hands for the leverage she needs to reach up and kiss her. Emily’s mouth brushes hers just so, soft, but insistent. The kind of kiss she feels in her bones.

Deep down, she knows Emily’s right, that, and it’s better not to fight her on things like this. Emily warned her about working so hard, burning the candle at both ends, as they say, but as ever, she didn’t listen. Despite thinking herself to be a mostly independent person of some intelligence, she’s terrible at basic things like taking breaks, sleeping, and eating three meals a day. Once her head’s stuck in a book, the rest of the world disappears, except for Emily. Emily is always resolutely clear in her mind, even if they aren’t together. Her mum says if it weren’t for Emily, she’d probably starve. Right now, it’s also abundantly clear that if it weren’t for Emily, she’d also drop down dead from overwork and lack of sleep.

“What can I say?” Naomi mumbles between kisses, fighting to stay awake. “You’re _very_ persuasive.”

At that, Emily lets out a throaty little laugh, smiling against Naomi’s lips and a thrill rushes her. She doesn’t know how, exactly, but Emily – or more specifically Emily’s mouth – has coaxed her across the room without her realising. It’s a deliciously cruel distraction, one that Emily’s taken years to perfect. Kissing is Naomi’s weakness, it’s the first thing she was truly comfortable doing, even if they did progress to much more than that faster than either of them really expected. Even now, it’s still sort of a revelation to her when Naomi kisses back, and she still tastes that same sweet kind of hunger on her lips.

One has kiss drifted into another, she closes her eyes, letting herself be guided as Emily peppers kisses along her jaw, and now, down her neck, sucking ever so slightly as they negotiate the doorway, neither wanting to break the kiss or let go of each other. Emily swears under her breath leading her over the scattered piles of clothes from earlier in the day, discarded outfits and jewellery not fit for the job. She likes watching Emily dress and undress, do her hair, and put on her make-up. There’s something about seeing her change and come to life altogether differently that has its own sort of magnetism.

Maybe that’s just the feeling you get whenever you look at someone you love?

“You seem to inspire it in me,” Emily whispers, low and husky, right in her ear as she leads her to the bed.

Naomi smiles, struck by the sentiment. She pulls Emily close, squeezing her tightly, pulling them down on the bed together, laughing when Emily gives a little squeal of surprise before kissing her again. Emily’s words echo in Naomi’s head; a reminder of their life before all of this, when a very different, younger, shyer, but no less beautiful Emily stole her heart and refused to give it back. She wouldn’t want it now. It belongs to Emily. It always has and it always will.

***

**Twenty-Four**

The past few hours are gone in a blur of hugs, kisses, tears and speeches – a crazy, stressful and kind of overwhelming but, sort of magical day. It’s not like she imagined at all; it’s infinitely better than anything she could’ve dreamed of, because, well, seeing what you’ve dreamed – secretly for a while, and then not so secretly – is a lot to handle.

Naomi thinks she’s never smiled so much in all her life, and she’s never been happier. Her feet ache from wearing heels all day and dancing – really dancing, with steps she had to learn and everything – and maybe lacing the corset of her dress _that_ tightly wasn’t the greatest idea, but she wouldn’t change it for the world. Happy is too small a description for the joy, no, the euphoria she feels. As of two o’clock this afternoon, she and Emily are married. Saying her vows they’d written for each other – the least agonising part of the whole process – in front of a room full of over a hundred-and-fifty of their family and friends was terrifying, but liberating too; like skywriting her love for Emily instead of just whispering it in her ear. Looking into Emily’s eyes as they held hands and exchanged rings was proof and confirmation of everything she’s ever felt.

It’s been the main topic of conversation for over a year, organised to within an inch of its life by Jenna and Katie with plans for this and lists for that, and ‘greeting teams’ with those ridiculous microphone headsets. Sometimes she could’ve cheerfully killed the pair of them, just to get some respite, because she’s never seen Emily so wound up, but now, she’s thankful they’ve all made it through unscathed, even if their bank balance might never recover. They hadn’t wanted a grand affair, but slowly, with her mum and Kieran getting involved and putting more cash into the pot – along with the insane amount from Emily’s parents, plus all they’d managed to save – it turned into one, and they were touring places with grade listings, tasting cakes and sampling menus, and doing a gift registry. In the end, the list was cut off, because they were getting so many people wanting to buy the same thing, and she suggested that they ended up asking for people to make charity donations instead. Emily had agreed, but smiled at her in this knowing, sweet way, and said that old habits die hard. Maybe she’s right, because all this attention and expense feels weird and still sort of makes her uncomfortable. All she’s ever wanted is Emily, everything else, all the pomp and ceremony, well, it’s just gilding the lily, as they say. Lilies don’t come prettier than Emily.

They’re staying in a huge suite, tucked away in a posh boutique hotel, with a manicured garden and room service and Michelin star-rated food. The second they stepped in here, she was convinced there had been a mix up and they’d be turfed out at any second before they got a chance to raid the mini-bar, because they look far too young and they’re certainly not well paid enough to order anything beyond olives and hummus off the menu. She’s pretty sure they both hit dolphin range with their squealing, and there was a moment where she thought they might’ve broken the bed from jumping up and down on it so much.

The whole weekend, or as they term it ‘leisure experience’ is being paid for by her mum and Kieran, as they don’t really have the money or the time for a real honeymoon yet. It’ll be Goa, she knows, because they never got to make it back when they were eighteen. Life got in the way. Emily keeps the tickets in box with all her other keepsakes from their relationship. Yes, she’s one of those adorable girls who keeps love letters – she’s apt to write them, from time to time when she’s particularly feeling romantic, which is rather a lot – receipts, train and cinema tickets. The Goa tickets have a special companion in the form of a faded Post-It, that’s long since lost it’s stickiness, and the writing is beginning to fade, but she thinks that the words ‘Emily Slept Here’ will be engrained into her memory, just like the moment Emily said yes to her proposal, and when they kissed this afternoon for the first time as a married couple complete with applause.

It’s the first chance she’s had to relax all day, figuratively and literally, soaking in a huge rolltop bath with gold taps and a high bubbles to water ratio; all very decadent and adult. She sinks down into the warm water, and lets out a long, contented sigh and rests her head back, looking up at the opulent chandelier above her head. She’s never really been one for all this opulence, but then, she’s never really had the opportunity to experience it before. The only thing missing is her bride. She smiles to herself at the thought, giddy, because it’s still all fresh and new in her mind, and she’ll have get used to introducing her that way when they meet people.

The door to their suite clicks shut, and she can hear Emily padding across the carpet. She got out of the bath ten minutes ago to answer the door when the room service knocked. Emily’s ordered them something, but she doesn’t know what, since the phone was taken into the bathroom, and she was left in bed to wait and wonder. Not that she’d complain since it’s already clear that sex with your utterly gorgeous new wife is even better than sex with your utterly gorgeous longterm girlfriend. Emily’s dress was beautiful – cream, intricately detailed and embellished – but its got nothing on her.

There’s a clink of glasses, and she looks up. Emily stands in the doorway, holding two champagne flutes in one hand, and the bottle in the other. She stays there a moment, watching her stretched out in the bath. She wishes the photographer was still here, because he’d see Emily how she sees her, and that’s even more beautiful than the black and white pictures she knows will look stunning when the album arrives.

They smile at each other, and Naomi crooks a finger, beckoning her forward. They’ve been together all day, but ridiculously, they’ve barely seen each other, between the ceremony, the reception, and the seemingly endless rounds of photos and everyone offering their congratulations. A perfect kind of chaos, and now, it’s just calm, and still. The fact that they’re married, that Naomi’s her wife, hits her all over again, and she can’t stop herself from smiling. Sometimes, you _do_ get the girl of your dreams.

“Thought we should top this day off the right way, Mrs Campbell.” Emily beams, a slight blush in her cheeks that’s nothing to do with all they’ve already had to drink. It’s adorable.

Naomi pushes herself up, and crooks a finger at her, “I like the way you think,” she pauses for effect, “Mrs Campbell.”

Emily smiles again, glancing down at the ring on her finger. Naomi will never tire of seeing that look on her face. They’re both still enchanted with it, and the novelty of wearing it just makes things that little bit more concrete.

Now she’s sitting higher, Naomi has a better view of Emily, and she likes it. She’s wearing a slightly too big white fluffy robe, and nothing else. Her previously immaculately curled hair is looking rather _less_ immaculate. A sight made all the more delicious due to the fact she’s entirely responsible. She couldn’t help herself, because ever since Emily tied it back to this glorious coppery-brown, it’s made her even more attracted – not that there’s a time where she wouldn’t be attracted to her.

“Shall I do the honours? I’m better at opening these than you,” Emily asks, starting to unwrap the foil on the bottle as she moves closer.

Naomi nods. “I knew there was a reason why I married you.”

She joking, but it’s sort of true, Emily’s good days like this, playing host and being social. She got the girl who can do dinner parties and bake things; a proper little domestic goddess. It’s not very politically correct, but she finds it ridiculously sexy watching her in this mode. Of course, there are lots of other reasons, like the fact she’s incredibly smart, and beautiful, and kind, and everything you could want in a person … a wife.

“Just the one?” Emily teases.

“Maybe,” Naomi grins, playing nonchalant.

The cork pops and Emily flinches, Naomi ducking on instinct. Thankfully, it manages _not_ to hit the chandelier. They’ve both heard that sound a lot today through toasts and speeches, but this one, this moment between the two of them feels different, and much more special. The bottle overflows a little, but she manages to catch it in the glass, filling it as close to the brim as she can.

“For you, gorgeous,” Emily announces, presenting the glass with a flourish.

Naomi blushes. “Thank you, darling.”

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t tasted it!”

Naomi holds back from drinking any until Emily’s own glass is full and the bottle is safely out of harms way. “To us,” she says, raising her glass and clinking it with Emily’s. There’s a melodic little ring that accompanies it. They sip then, demure and proper.

It’s an acquired taste, Naomi thinks, but she’s slowly getting used to it now, with weddings and work functions. She lets out a little giggle when Emily shudders and makes a face when she has another mouthful, but then drinks more anyway. Emily’s more of a wine and sweet cocktails kind of girl, always has been, but she likes the idea of it all. It feels right. Everything about this day has. It’s been a long time in the making.

“To us,” Emily echoes, toasting them again a few moments later, leaning over to capture Naomi’s lips in a soft kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Naomi replies, kissing Emily again, letting it linger a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than when I saw you in that dress today. You looked beautiful.”

“Oh Naoms,” Emily’s voice wavers, and there are tears just beginning to brim in her eyes. “I love you with all my heart, you know that? I still can’t believe we made it. We’re married. You’re my wife. Forever.”

“I can. I got the only girl who ever loved me to love me back,” Naomi’s voice hits the same pitch, heavy with emotion. “I knew I’d end up marrying you.”

They kiss again, gentle pecks, like they’re discovering each other anew, Naomi not minding the odd angle she has to tilt her head to reach Emily, ignoring the water that spills over the bath.

“I like this being married thing, we should’ve done it before,” Emily murmurs.

Naomi hums agreement, sucking in Emily’s bottom lip and kissing her one last time before grudgingly letting go. Kisses aren’t enough now. She needs Emily in here with her, skin to skin. From the look in Emily’s eyes, it’s obvious she’s not the only one.

“Now,” Emily begins, reaching for her glass when she doesn’t take another sip, “where were we before posh room service boy interrupted us?”

Naomi swallows hard, sensing that something between them has shifted. Her skin prickles with anticipation as she watches Emily set their nearly empty glasses and the champagne bottle on the table nearby with exaggerated delicateness. There’s a different smile on Emily’s face now; seductive, and ever so slightly mischievous. Naomi knows it well.

“Well,” Naomi begins, but then she stops abruptly, because Emily’s taking off her robe with agonising slowness, half coy half sensual in a way that only she can pull off. Naomi drinks in the sight of Emily’s body as it’s revealed, licking her lips. “We were, perhaps, here?” Naomi scoots forward, pulling Emily into the bath with her. Water displaces, and Emily lets out a little squeal of surprise. “Yes,” Naomi continues, pulling Emily close, kissing her softly on the lips. “Definitely here.”

The kiss deepens, naturally, slowly, because it feels like they have all the time in the world. Emily’s hands slide around Naomi’s neck, then tangle into soft golden-blonde hair. Naomi knows that sign, it’s Emily letting go and losing herself completely. She holds her close, one hand on Emily’s face, thumb caressing, while the other rests on the small of Emily’s back, pulling her closer still. Any distance would be too much now. Sometimes, they wonder what it would be like to be pressed so close that eventually, they’re two souls in one body, because that’s how they’ve always felt. Until they met and fell in love, they were half people, living half lives and yearning for the fullness of their dreams to come true.

Now they have.

***

**Twelve**

It’s never been easy, this nomadic existence, moving from place to place whenever her mum felt like it. She doesn’t do particularly well in social situations, given that until last year, she was home schooled by her mum’s friends, and she’s never really had anyone her own age to talk to. They’ll be nice for five minutes, and then turn into the same baying judgemental mob she’s encountered in other schools and other cities – Manchester, Cardiff, Liverpool. It’s easier to keep to herself. All she has to do keep up her good marks and get through the day. The certificates are all she’s here for. She wants something official, something proper. More than anything else, she wants desperately to blend in and become unremarkable. She wants to be the girl that no one recalls.

Individualism is fine as a concept, but it’s not so easy to live with on a day-to-day basis.

She’s quiet, people always tell her she’s too quiet. It’s something she’s trying to work on, but she finds herself too easily drowned out at home, with their house full of whatever misfit or stray her mum’s decided to take in on any given day. Eventually, all the trying becomes trying, and it’s easier to say nothing at all. Make no mistake, she’s got her own mind, and her own ideas, and she’s not afraid to share those, should anyone care to listen. Only, they don’t, because the opinions she has are so different from other people – not in a way that’s remotely ridiculous or radical, they’re just not ordinary or common. She’s ahead of her classmates in most things. She listens to things they don’t, read things they’ve never even heard of, and visited places they’ve only ever seen on a map. She doesn’t feel twelve, not really. Twice that, and perhaps half again is closer.

She’s never really had a friend. She’s never had someone who understands her completely.

She knows the drill. She’s ready. Resigned. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it once did. She tries for steely and bold, because the enigma of the new girl only lasts so long. There’s a limit to these things. It doesn’t work. Just like the last time, her nervousness leeches out of her with every step as she crosses the classroom and takes in the sharply dressed young teacher with the soft Scottish lilt who she assumes is Mr McAllister. She passes the note she’s been given with a shaky hand. He smiles reassuringly, introducing her to the class, and she feels the pressure in the room drop. He’s the nicest person she’s come across so far today; feeling more than a little overwhelmed by all the rules, directions and form-filling.

The classroom is loud and chaotic, like every other, and they resent her presence, she can feel it. Thirty pairs of eyes all looking at her; gauging who she might be. Imagining and re-imagining with every blink.

What she isn’t ready for, not in the slightest, is the way one person in particular looks at her. A few rows back, in the middle seat, is a girl sitting on her own. She’s confused for a moment, because she looks an awful lot like the sulky girl leaning against the wall outside the classroom. She hears Mr McAllister say a name – Emily – and she forces herself not to smile at the sound. It fits her entirely, she looks sweet and good in a way that few people are in this world. Emily isn’t like the girl outside at all, she’s much, much kinder. Her features are soft, and her eyes are a deep, dark brown, studying her curiously.

The room gets smaller. All she can see her. All she can hear is the loud beating of her own heart – boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom. It feels closer to the surface than normal, and it’s racing so fast that she thinks it might come out of her mouth if she dares to speak. No one’s ever looked at her like that before; like they see everything all at once. One blink, two; and her every secret, fear, and desire seems laid bare without one moment of struggle.

It’s terrifying, but she can’t seem to look away. All she wants to do is get closer.

She sees it all suddenly; a life unfolding piece-by-piece. Flashes of images, fragments of things. Things she’s read about – grand things, sweet things, romantic things – but never dared to dream of, right there in front of her all wrapped in that tiny girl; pretty, perfect, and unassuming. Then, it’s gone again, and they’re still in the same room, in the same place, but it’s not the same as it was when she stepped through the door five minutes ago.

Her world has turned on its head. The shift feels permanent.

She forces herself to move in the direction Mr McAllister is pointing as she registers Emily say a timid “yes,” in response to his question, and she begins hurriedly tidying and moving things out of the way.

“Hi,” Emily says, sweetly, pushing out the now empty chair next to her. She keeps her hand there a moment, gripping it, as if to steady herself. “Nice to meet you.”

The same surge of energy rushes through her as when they first looked at each other.

“Hi,” she replies, carefully, and slides into the seat.

As she unpacks her things, desperately trying not to draw attention to herself as the class settles, Emily moves her textbook into the centre of the table and points to the questions they should be answering. When she looks up, taking in Emily's shy smile, it feels like they’re sharing something. Something that’s special, between only them.

She’s never believed in silly things like soulmates or love at first sight, because she always considered them too fanciful and too abstract to apply to the real world; but today, in this very moment, she finds herself questioning it. She finds herself more open to the possibility. Maybe Emily is the possibility. The enormity of the thought throws her; feeling big and unwieldy, something she can’t fully grasp or control. It scares her, petrifies her, so it remains something she doesn’t say. Yet.


End file.
